Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Chain of Souls
by Element's Sole Protector
Summary: Post Last Olympian! "I will go to the Underworld," I said. "I will travel, again, across the United States and find out why these souls are being exterminated-and who's doing it. And...I'll rescue Luke Castellan from the same fate, even if it kills me."
1. I Have Coffee With A Girl and A God

Welcome to my first attempt at _Percy Jackson and the Olympians_.

This is my third longer story, sure to be updated a little faster than the ever-intricate **_Into the Fold_**. It's been a real _joy_ writing this the past couple of months, experimenting with word choice and getting furious as plot strings are interrupted by bells and passing periods (laughs). It is my tribute to Luke Castellan, whom I love like very few others in my circle do. I reread _The Last Olympian_, realized again that this was the end of my time as Percy's (erm, patient) listener, and thought: "...But, but, what happens to him _next_?"

As my pencil continues to move, a long time after that question was first poised, I learn the answer. I'm here to share it with you.

**A note:** Percy will be different from the Percy we all know and love. If luck graces my hand and utensil, some of the character traits that made me laugh in the books will pop up here, so it won't seem like I copy-pasted some random dude into Percy's life. Speaking of... life hasn't been going so well for him lately. Prepare for: a quest, some upgraded romance (this is rated a higher-up 'T', after all, and _not_ for Troll), friendship, father-son relationships, and lots and lots of god-sightings. Guess who's _first_?

Set three years following _The Last Olympian_. Perseus Jackson is nineteen years old. The majority of the story will be from his point of view, like the books. Any quotes from the books--well, I don't own them. You'll recognize them.

The Legal Jargon: I've been lucky enough to actually _meet_ Rick Riordan (though he probably doesn't remember me. Sigh!). Claiming I owned his masterpiece would be the deepest sin _ever_.

* * *

**Percy Jackson and the Olympians:**  
~_The Chain of Souls_~

* * *

**Chapter One:** I Have Coffee With a Girl and a God

* * *

Perhaps I should have known that for half-bloods, nothing _ever_ ends. But, in my own defense... I'd had a while to let my guard down.

It had been three years to the day. Three years since Mount Olympus was nearly razed to the ground. Three years since all of Camp Half-Blood had fought assiduously (and almost in vain) against Lord Kronos's forces, and the gods (including my dad) had fought against Typhon. Three years had passed since Charles Beckendorf had sacrificed himself on the _Princess Andromeda_, since I'd visited my father's underwater kingdom, since Silena Beauregard had both betrayed us and saved us, and three years since Annabeth Chase and I had kissed underwater and started our own sort of tidal wave.

And it had been three years since Luke Castellan had died a hero.

To the amazement of anyone who knew me, I managed to graduate from Goode High School without any more problems (well, no one was counting the time some rogue ex-Kronos telekhines snuck in and tried to eat me and Rachel, and everyone else thought we were just being licked by oversized dogs, so I guess we weren't either). Chiron came to the graduation ceremony to congratulate us--we both waved vigorously his way.

While Paul handed out my (hard-earned) diploma, I could have sworn I saw _Mr. D_, of all people, looking rather bored in the third row behind all the students.

However, I was completely _sure_ it couldn't have been possible for me to see a dark-haired, casual man with Bermuda shorts on, smiling at me, a few seats away from my mom.

* * *

_KRAAAK!_

I jolted up, reaching unconsciously for Riptide.

But Anaklusmos was nowhere near. Instead I knocked over something else, something that hurt my hand. Luckily the thing didn't smash on the floor.

When I picked up the picture frame, Annabeth was smiling at me from her chosen college campus, with Daedalus's old laptop at her side. She'd gone early to scope it out (_of course_) and had a fellow future-freshman take the photo. On the back was a note I knew by heart: _Happy early nineteenth birthday, Seaweed Brain! You know how I like to plan ahead. Sorry I couldn't be there for the party, but MIT insisted. See you soon, lover boy._

The parting line still made me blush.

Rubbing the offended hand and looking around, I found the source of my fright: the alarm clock, now looking as if it had seen better days. Annabeth would approve of the irony--and the fact that, thanks to her, I _knew_ the word 'irony'.

She really hadn't been at my birthday party, but only because her dad insisted she take a tour of her chosen college that 'happened' to coincide with the week of my birthday. I told her it was an omen, fortelling how the Massachusetts Institute of Technology would destroy our relationship, but she punched me and laughed and told me to shut up. Okay, then.

The calendar waved at me from the opposite wall, the date gleaming in red. August 18, the day I was born. I'd had nineteen days like this.

Well, not _exactly_ like this.

In the past I'd had my mom feeding me blue food, a few people giving me half-hearted well wishes in school, Annabeth giving me birthday kisses (definitely my favorite, especially when it didn't end at that), some belated parties, or early ones, at camp--and my dad had even dropped in, twice total, to fix me with the warm green gaze I'd inherited from him.

This was my first real birthday as an adult, with no one directly around me--I had my own apartment now, and I would be in it until I went to... well, wherever I went in the fall. Something, maybe my half-blood intuition, covered with three years' worth of dust, told me that not only would this birthday be different from any one I'd ever had, but it would be really bad.

Perhaps even deadly.

I took Riptide when I left the apartment, just in case.

* * *

_The number one rule, whether you're going into a fight or leaving one,_ Chiron had drilled into me, day after day. _Trust your instincts_.

My instincts probably should have gone off when, while serving up lattes at Starbucks (look, it was the best I could do during summer in New York on top of everything else, so lay off, okay?), I heard a man give Louis the cashier a name that sounded like "Die O. Nices"--but I really wasn't paying attention to who was buying and selling. I was delivering mochas to table three, and almost spilled them over the customers' legs when I saw Rachel Elizabeth Dare, currently deliberating on Northwestern University in Illinois, sashay back through the metaphorical door of my life.

"Percy," I heard Sophia, my manager, call.

When I went to her side, mind still fuzzy, she handed me a large... some kind of drink I'd never seen before. Seriously, _never_.

"Table six, Percy," she said, smiling when I looked a little too blankly at her. "The customer requested you personally. I believe he has a 'fondness for Greek names'."

My blood seemed to freeze.

Greek names?

"_Perseus_," Sophia clarified, shaking my shoulder. "Don't you know your own name?"

I stared at her, as if any second I expected her to grow fangs or swell to twice her original size and try to eat me. Somehow I managed to choke, "How do **_you_** know my name?"

"...Your driver's license," she said dryly. "And you had to fill out a form asking for your legal name when you applied for this job, remember? Now go on and deliver, it's getting cold." She gave me a look I didn't like.

I blushed and hurried away. Sophia, with her red hair and gray eyes, was a constant reminder of both Annabeth _and_ Rachel. Whether from some misplaced embarrasment or whatever, I couldn't ever look at her long. But at least she'd proved she wasn't a monster.

Table six was occupied by a short, pudgy, dark-haired man who was wearing what Nico di Angelo would have called "granny shades" (to his own peril). He smirked under the glasses as I approached, and when I set his cup down he said softly: "Ah, so Perseus Jackson lives. I do hope that isn't cold from how long you've kept me waiting."

_No. Way._

My mouth fell open. I said something smart like "Um, what?"

"As dim-witted as ever, I see. It is true, then, what the mortals sometimes say about some things never changing. --Ah, _**there**_ the silly girl is at last!"

A blur of red appeared at my shoulder, and Rachel slipped into a chair opposite Mr. Shades. "Sorry I'm late," she breathed, sliding lower in the seat. "Had to find a place to park the limo--impossible, you know..." Then she winked at me. "Hey, Percy. Nice apron."

_Nice to see you again, too_. "I'm not on break," I managed to say, still in shock over Mr. Shades's possible identity. "So I can't 'catch up' or whatever it is you've obviously planned."

"Well, I missed you too," Rachel mumbled, now sounding sullen.

The man gave an overly-loud snort, then, and removed his glasses as though they suddenly bothered him. Dark eyes, with dancing purple flecks, regarded me for the first time in a long time, and I shuddered.

"Don't be stupid," Dionysus said bluntly. "Consider yourself 'on break' until I am quite finished with you, _mortal_. I doubt your pretty boss will mind. Now _sit_."

I sat down immediately.

The god of wine and madness grunted. "If only you'd been quite so submissive and obedient when we first met."

_My mother had been dragged to the underworld then, if you remember._

Rachel was 'examining' Sophia with her ever-critical artist's eye. "Oooh, a pretty boss! Does Annabeth know?"

"Shut up. Of course she knows."

"Uh-huh." Rachel looked to the other member of our strange party. "Lord Dionysus, shall I do the honors? It was I who predicted it, after all, or so Chiron says. I wasn't exactly lucid at the time."

"Since when have you started calling people _Lord_?"

"That would be since she took it upon herself to learn the proper terms of respect, Johnson," Dionysus almost sneered, "unlike one seafaring whelp I have been cursed to know."

"I missed you too, Mr. D."

"_Enough!_" He slammed his fist onto the table, in a manner reminiscent of Ares, my old nemesis. And indeed, some people looked around uneasily, as if afraid of something they could barely understand. Dionysus's face was red, as though he'd been partaking of his still-forbidden 'happy juice'.

Obviously it wasn't working yet, because suddenly Sophia appeared at my shoulder with a querying look on her face.

"Percy...? Did I hear you say you were taking a break? ...Because that's okay, I just need to know that everything's... okay over here."

She cast a nervous gray glance Dionysus's way. He smiled in a strained manner that was apparently supposed to reassure her. Yeah, right.

"There's nothing to fear. Perseus and I are simply having an... animated Greek discussion of old with... ah... our resident Andromeda, here. All is well in your little shop." He snapped his fingers. The room chilled, then warmed again.

_Mist at work._

I didn't approve of his comparisons.

Sophia put a hand on my shoulder. "So everything's okay here?"

"Oh yeah," I said, pasting on my best ADHD false smile. "All is peachy-keen here." _Peachy-keen?_ "I'll just be on break for a short while."

"You're _sure_?"

"It's a barrel of laughs over here, Sophia. Join us?"

"Oh... no thanks, I don't think I will." And with that, she was gone. My last link to the sanity of the mortal world; now I was stuck with a mortal-gone-wacko and an annoyingly-powerful god.

Oh, yeah, and myself--the half-blood in between.

"I did not come here," Dionysus began, in a quieter tone that gave me goosebumps, "to banter with you, as though we were 'old pals'. If you had wanted that, you would have done well to accept Father Zeus's generous offer of immortality three years' past."

I suddenly felt a hundred times colder. No, not just colder--angry, and hurt, and a hundred other stupid feelings. I looked away from Mr. D and out the windows of the café, my fist clenching. Thunder abruptly rumbled, and I shifted my gaze to my fist instead. Everything trembled around me.

Or was _I_ trembling?

Three years. It had been so long ago.

It had been a year, really, maybe a little more, since I'd last gone anywhere near Camp Half-Blood--but everything had really begun three years ago, after Luke's fall and my birthday and by far the best end-of-camp of my life. Everything had gone downhill so soon afterward. It hurt to think about still.

Rachel gawked. She hissed to me: "You... Percy, _you were offered immortality_? You never told me--"

"It didn't exactly fit in with you stealing my pegasus and flying off to become the Oracle," I hissed back. I was still on edge. Gods, Dionysus...

He had brought back _everything_.

"Speaking of Father Zeus," said god butted in, looking for all the world about to pout, "he has delegated to _me_ the simply wonderful task of giving _you_ a message. A warning."

"I thought that was Hermes's territory."

More thunder.

"So did I, Perry. Apparently not."

Dionysus looked sternly my way. I continued to study my hands.

"Percy," Rachel said softly. I ignored her.

"Look into my eyes, Perseus Jackson."

There was no disobeying that voice, the I-am-a-god-and-I-will-make-you-my-eternal-slave-if-you-don't-obey-me voice. I looked up into the black-and-purple infinity again, and felt true resentment, bordering now on fear.

Dionysus's expression softened, if possible. "You are in danger."

I glanced to my left, then my right. Sarcasm colored my voice gray. "Yeah... you know, I _did_ always think the mortals here were more than they appeared to be. I was starting to get an uncomfortable itch and everything. Dangerous, indeed."

My skin started to burn, literally fry, and I flinched. The wine god's expression didn't change. Alrighty, then. No sarcasm.

"There is a decision that you will make. It will put you in danger, depending on what you decide to do. This from Apollo, possibly through Rachelle here."

"_Rachel_."

"Whatever. I have come with a warning for _you_, Jackson: _'You will walk the line of death'_."

_Oh._

I didn't think my skin was burning anymore. Now I couldn't feel it at all. "The... line of death?"

"The 'line of death'--whatever that nonsense means." Dionysus nodded. "The full: '_You will walk the line of death. Be cautious'_."

"What, no rhyming at all?"

I stood to leave. As if on command, two identical cups of coffee appeared, under my nose and Rachel's.

"Stay awhile, Jackson. I can practically sense your anxiety to leave--just as you left before."

I hoped my gaze was as angry as I was. _The sea doesn't like to be taunted,_ Chiron's voice warned in my head, telling me of my notorious temper one day. _Your father would tell you the same._

"Please--no, just _don't_. Don't remind me of what happened. Leave it alone--if you would, _Lord Dionysus_."

_Barely remembered to add the last part in. He can't kill me for using his title like he wanted._

_Can he?_

Rachel gazed queryingly at me. She'd just been watching us 'talk' (if you could call it that), and now she seemed to know that there were things I wasn't saying.

Yet.

"A little over three years ago," I said to her, "shortly before getting hold of you in the mortal world was like pulling drakon teeth, you told me something that saved all of our lives. _'Perseus, you are not the hero'_."

I took a sip of the coffee and grinned, and not because it was good. "And I think it applies to me even more now than it did then."

Rachel's gray eyes widened, mixed now with confusion and unwilling understanding. She knew what I was saying. "What...?"

"Speak plainly, hero," the immortal ordered.

"That's just the thing, Lord Dionysus." I turned to look at him. "I have forsworn 'hero work' and quests, and anything like them. I put that behind me more than a year ago, when I left the borders of Camp Half-Blood for the last time. That's why no one has seen me since... then. And that's why no one _will_ see me. So there's no feasible way for that prophecy, or warning, or _whatever_, to come true about me. Try the next hero."

Rachel bit her lip, an uncharacteristic thing. Then all of a sudden she raised one red eyebrow and looked me over, pretending to survey me for the last time. I realized, a little embarrased, that she was about to cry, and was staving off that urge by poking fun at me now. "_'Forsworn'? 'Feasible'?_"

"Shut up," I replied, and thought (too late) that I might have been a little rude. "Annabeth... she insisted that I learn some more words, straight from the dictionary, and that I actually _apply_ them--all the time. She's most of the reason I did okay on the SAT, and my finals.

"So, yes, I _have_ 'forsworn' being a hero. Forever. Now, please leave me in peace--thanks to you two, I doubt I have any more 'break time' for the next week."

I picked up the neglected coffee and took a sudden big gulp--and spluttered.

"Spl--_ACK!!!_ What IS this stuff--this isn't _coffee_, it's--it's like--_seawater_!"

"...And where does it come from?" Dionysus wanted to know. He was smirking.

"From the Atlantic Ocean, of course," I replied automatically. "What's the... point...?"

I trailed off then, connecting the dots.

_Oh, gods..._

"Your father sends his well-wishes," Dionysus now said, almost gently. (Note the 'almost'.) "He awaits your return to camp, Perseus. --As do I, frighteningly enough. Things have been peaceful enough with you _gone_."

I don't know why, but the room temperature seemed to fall about a million degrees just then. Looking around wildly, I saw that all of the mortals in the room, sans Rachel, were frozen--oddly enough, all with their eyes closed.

"I will see you again, Jackson," Dionysus predicted, with strange finality. He started to glow.

"Look away," I warned Rachel, and did so myself. But I also did more.

As Dionysus assumed his godly form in a golden flash, my trembling legs guided me to Starbucks' door for an early (or late) day off--Sophia hopefully wouldn't fire me--and then home from there, with my father's words echoing in my head.


	2. Kindly Ones Nearly Eat My Diploma

I've decided to embed review replies into my chapters, so that no good and loyal reviewer need worry that their kindness will go unrewarded. Not too many plot secrets, of course-isn't that why you all came back?

**Heythere—**Thank you, thanks a lot for being reviewer number one! (Go on, gloat. I do it too.) The plot will be made clear in **this chapter**, so I hope you stick around. The quote from my summary is from here. I'm planning on giving it a 'true' summary soon, hopefully.

**ToL-Lover—**Thank you for the support! Here is more, and I hope you enjoy. :D

**Alexis**—Wow, that has to be a record. I've gotten you hooked already? I must refrain from being smug, so instead... YAY! (parties) (settles down) Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy Chapter Two.

Thank you all for your support of this newest child of mine. I know you will be itching to find out what happened to Percy, but be patient and all will be revealed. (I sound like a fortune-teller.)

Now, **a warning**: this chapter gets a little tricky tense-wise. There are times (in _italics_, mostly) when Percy is reliving the past, and not thinking in the present as is normal. I was sure to put in heads-up for these while writing, but I don't want you to be confused. If you are, feel free to PM or review and I'll differentiate.

Oh, yeah. I don't own Starbucks Coffee. All I like is their hot chocolate.

* * *

**Chapter Two:** Kindly Ones Nearly Eat My Diploma

* * *

It was so good to be home, to close my door on the world. On Rachel Elizabeth Dare, on Mr. D, on the world of gods and Titans and quests and re-forming monsters, and on the first words my father had 'spoken' to me since I was seventeen or eighteen, and we'd parted on Olympus.

_I await your return to camp._

_It will be a cold day in Hades, father,_ I vowed silently. That was much more Annabeth's world than it was mine, now. I had left anything that screamed _Perseus Jackson, Son of Poseidon_ either in cabin three or in Annabeth's New York apartment.

I didn't visit either of those places.

And yet... after everything, after my life had basically fallen into the cracks of Greek tragedy and humiliation, after I had retreated to the mortal world, never to return—Poseidon still wanted something of me.

_Your father sends his well-wishes._

A lump formed in my throat. Was Dionysus just toying with me? That had to be it. It was the only explanation for what had just happened: Rachel, who had 'escaped' Clarion Academy to return to Goode with me, whom I hadn't seen or heard from since graduation, walking into my job and greeting me like she'd never ignored my existence. Greeting me like _Annabeth_ would.

Gods, I missed my girlfriend. One more thing to add to my life-tragedy, that I did not see her often enough at all.

And Dionysus, snarling at me, talking to me like I'd never run away from camp, from duty, from being a half-blood. Why did they both not understand that I had _failed_, that I'd barely _not_ died, and that I didn't want to humiliate myself anymore?

I had hated—HATED—letting the gods down. Not that I would have admitted that to the majority of them. But Poseidon, on the other hand...

_Gods, I disappointed my father._

Shaking, I sank down on my bed—how I'd crossed the room and locked the door, I had no idea. That lump in my throat was starting to hurt. And was my vision blurring?

My mom, Sally Jackson, had told me when I was much younger that it was okay for boys to cry, whatever anyone (read: Smelly Gabe) said to the contrary. But it had been such a long time since then...

And anyway, if I started bawling at work or whatever, my fellow male apron-wearers at Starbucks would never let me live it down... never...

Never...

* * *

_When was the last time I had cried?_

It wasn't really necessary to ask. I was nineteen, and I remembered it perfectly. It came back in my dreams, jagged and always so sharp.

I had been seventeen, on the waning side of my junior year. Still going to Camp Half-Blood (though not as frequently), my second home, my haven. So close to having five beads on my necklace, come summer. Praying I'd done well on the SAT, that my "study sessions" (okay, _some_ of them) with Annabeth had paid off. Alternating between pleasing the gods (finding their children, with Grover, and bringing them to camp; Hermes had especially thanked me for following through on my word) and annoying them (just ask Dionysus).

And then my mom got sick—_really_ sick. All while she had taken care of me, alone, she'd seldom _ever_ gotten sick. But that year… it was like every sickness she'd sidestepped in my favor had converged on her all at once.

I thought that Sally Jackson was going to die. My schoolwork plummeted back into its pre-demigod abysmal ways, and I hardly cared; I was too busy driving or hiking to the doctor every day. Every day, for the same head shake from the doctor, for my spirits to poison further.

_"I don't understand how she's still alive, Mr. Jackson. But I'm glad of it—her resilience may save her yet. Hopefully."_

Paul Blofis had been a wreck. He'd alternated between staying longer at school, drowning himself in Goode work, remaining constantly at my mother's side, stroking her hair or keeping her window curtains open, and the worst—trying to console me, to keep me on track, to truly play "Father". He offered me his shoulder and I pushed it away—and literally _ran away_. I was more of a wreck than he was, then.

It was Sophia who found me sleeping on Starbucks's back stair, on the way to Annabeth's apartment. Maybe it was the look on my face, something like _Hey, I think my mom's dying and it sucks_—but instead of calling the police, she offered me a job. In the process, she became like my second mother—definitely closer than Queen Amphitrite had come.

I had cried so, so much during that time. Normally I might have pulled a Luke and cursed the gods for what they'd done to my mom, but it seemed to be out of their control—and even they were sympathetic to what was happening.

That's right, I said _sympathetic_.

Paul and I hadn't discussed how I'd basically "moved out" yet, because of our combined grief. Just when the doctors started muttering about "possible signs of cancer" and I began to panic even further, the gods saw fit to pay visits.

My father Poseidon was first to come. I had been sleeping in a chair near my mother's bed when the air started to smell of the sea—I jerked up, and found myself staring into his deep green eyes and tanned face. _"How is she?"_, he had wanted to know, and I told him that I was afraid, that I didn't know how she was or would be, and about how I was afraid she was going to—

_"How are _you_, then?"_ Poseidon had asked me. I stared at him. Then he pulled me to him, for the second time in my life, and hugged me. I sobbed then too, because I'd last seen him at my most recent birthday, and the irony of the contrast in his reasons for coming (irony again) made me hurt even more.

We had stayed by my mom all night, neither one of us falling asleep—well, he was a god, too, so that helped. Paul had tiptoed in at about three in the morning, and, upon seeing Poseidon, his eyes had widened considerably. My father just nudged the empty chair next to him—and the vigil went on.

Days later, I knew Zeus had come when the hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I smelled ozone. The God of the Sky had looked to me, and... I racked my memory. What had happened, exactly?

_I rushed to bow to him, but he waved me off as I was coming back up. I guess he saw something in my eyes, because he put his hand on my shoulder and nodded. His cloud-gray eyes surveyed me, then moved to my mom. She shivered violently in her sleep, and I moved reflexively toward her._

_"Halt, nephew," Zeus said to me. He moved over and put a hand on my mom's forehead; she sighed, and some color returned to her face._

_I had never been the type to grovel at Zeus's feet, but what he had done for my mom was enough to have my legs trembling, sending me to the floor as I thanked him earnestly._

_"I have not alleviated her sickness," Zeus murmured solemnly, pulling me up._

_"I know—but—oh, thank you, Lord Zeus, thank you..."_

_He blinked, and moved to studying her again. Finally he said:_

_"I do not know what ails her. It is debilitating—yet she still fights it. ...I see, I think, what my brother Poseidon saw in her all those years ago—and still sees."_

_It was only after he'd left when I realized that Zeus was acknowledging our family ties. He'd called me "nephew"._

My Big Three magnetism continued: Hades swept into the hospital wing a few days later, on a cloak of darkness so thick it constricted the room. He was tailed by Nico, who gave me a sad smile. The unspoken tone of it made my blood freeze, I remember, and I turned to the Lord of the Dead.

_"You haven't—you're not here to—"_

_"No, godling." _I had almost forgotten now what Hades's voice sounded like—deep, and oily enough to smooth frizzy hair for years. _"As you have been told, she is _dying,_ not dead."_

_"Dying?"_ How my voice had broken, then!

Nico had stepped forward, and hesitated. He knew my mom too, after all. In a way, she was a second mother to _him_—the only living one he knew.

_"Go ahead,"_ Hades instructed. His eyes followed his son's movements and glittered neutrally.

Nico had gone forward, touched one finger to my mother's arm. He immediately flinched back.

_"What?"_

_"Her life force. It's... being repressed by something. It's almost out."_

_"_Repressed_? By the sickness?"_

_"No,"_ Hades had said. _"Not by the sickness. Not by _a_ sickness."_

_"Then by _what_?"_

Hades had shrugged grimly. _"I don't know 'what', specifically. But it is familiar... it reminds me of Underworld magic. That much I know."_ He frowned. _"I came because I wished to look into this strangeness further."_ He had glanced at his son. _"And Nico insisted."_

Nico had fixed me with his dark, thirteen year-old stare. _"I wanted to be here, Percy. I wanted to help."_

_"Thank you. Both."_

_I wasn't sure what had happened after that, because Hades snapped his fingers, and I saw sudden darkness_.

* * *

I woke with a start.

Something made me rub my head, hard. What had upset me while I was asleep and dreaming?

_Mom._

I almost destroyed something with Riptide (when did I draw that?) before I remembered: she was fine. Fine. Sally Jackson had gotten better, miraculously better, the September of my senior year. Annabeth had been there, as she often was, and on her last visit to the hospital her mother had accompanied her. And that was rare enough.

_Athena._

My heart had dropped. I remembered expecting her to start trying to convince me my mom would be better off dead. It would be just like her.

_"Lady Athena."_ I'd bowed all the same.

_"Perseus Jackson."_ Athena had inclined her head in my flashback/daydream, and I had started in surprise—it was a sign of respect I never expected to receive from her. _"I would see your mother."_

I'd stepped aside, and she had moved to put her hand on my mom's forehead—a common gesture of late. Annabeth had come to my side and held my hand, but her eyes (and mine) were on her mother.

What happened next was probably why this memory in particular was coming back to me, after nearly two years buried.

Athena had removed her hand after a long, long time. She approached me back then, and her gray eyes had bored into my face.

She'd spoken quietly. _"Your mother was treading the line of death, Percy. But you will be pleased to know that she will recover."_

_"She's going to... _live_?"_ My voice had broken; my nerves had been long since shot, and this was the last straw, in a way—even if it was a _good_ straw.

_"Yes. She was in danger, but whatever had hold on her has released her. Your mother lives, and will recover soon."_

_"So you agree with Hades—that whatever-got my mother was an 'it', not a sickness."_

Athena had pursed her lips. In retrospect, maybe that was a bad comparison.

_"...I do. This all reeks of something more sinister."_

_Kronos._ It was what I had thought at the time, but I did not say the name. After the war, I never wanted to say it again; and that still stood now, especially after certain unspeakable recent events.

_"Perseus."_ She recaptured my attention. Her next words were burned—or maybe frozen—into my memory; they chilled me to the bone. _"When I touched your mother, I received an insight—something that has never before happened to me. You will share your mother's fate, albeit in a different way. You will walk the line of death. Be cautious."_

I had now heard those words twice, from two gods (not counting the possible Apollo-through-Rachel), neither of which knew exactly how the warning had come. Both, though, knew it was a warning to me—and, from Dionysus's reawakening of the words, _I_ knew that if it was a prophecy of some sort, it hadn't been fulfilled when I'd received the scratch on my back.

Like my mother before me, I would also 'walk the line of death'. But as a demigod, there was no guarantee that I would live to laugh at those words.

* * *

THUMP.

I shot out of my daze. _Starbucks, home early, apartment empty except for me._ So _who_ was making all that noise?

THUMP.

THUMP.

_CRASH!_

My third coherent string of thought was: _Oh, no. Monsters._

It was like someone had turned on a switch. I jumped up, grabbed Riptide-in-pen-form and took several deep breaths. A while had passed, a long while, since the last time I'd faced any kind of monster. A long, non-life-threatening time, in which time my adrenaline had never been racing as fast as it was right now.

_Please,_ I sighed. _Please let it be like riding a bike. Riding a bike and killing age-old monsters-let them be the same. ...Practically the same._

And if the gods weren't listening, I wouldn't be surprised.

_Crrrrraaaaaaaackle_.

Was that..._paper_?

That was it. They were not wrecking my apartment. I charged into the living room, letting loose a strangled, lame battle cry and...

and...

...stopped in my tracks. These weren't monsters.

The three Furies were flapping around, trashing my house.

Suddenly I was twelve years old again—with a quest I hated, a father I didn't want, and immortal relatives I didn't even know yet. All I had in my hand was a pen that became a gleaming gold sword.

My flashback abruptly ended when the middle one (whom I immediately recognized as Mrs. Dodds, my former 'math teacher') examined some familiar-looking paper in her claws and, inspection done, promptly opened her mouth to eat it.

I recognized it, of course.

My diploma.

My Goode diploma, the one I'd received with Chiron watching, with all my parents watching, with Dionysus watching, with _Annabeth_ watching. So many good memories packed into that one sheet of paper, the only one that proved I had any worth.

Somehow I found the strength to shout: "STOP!"

The Kindly Ones looked around slowly towards me, and I began to wonder just how soon I'd be seeing the Underworld. But at least my diploma was safe.

I, on the other hand, was definitely _not_ safe.

It was Mrs. Dodds who approached me. I took a step back, and promptly felt the wall behind me. No escape.

"Perseus Jackson," she hissed. As she did, I vaguely remembered that her name was Alecto. His? Its? Really, I didn't know anymore.

The only halfway-intelligent thing I could say was "Look, I've already told them I'm no longer a hero—"

"And did you remember, Perseus Jackson, what I told you I would do if you did not live well and become a true hero? What would happen if I ever had you in my clutches again?"

I swallowed hard. I _did_ remember. Her eyes had been enough to give me an idea back then. And right now, all I could think was _Uh-oh_.

Alecto cackled, and I flinched. One of her (his? its? Oh, whatever...) hands/talons shot out and gripped my arm, the one now loosely holding Riptide.

So much for self-defense.

But her coal-colored eyes looked into mine, and suddenly everything else melted away. My whole half-broken world changed when she told me why she and her siblings had, in essence, been looking for me for months.

"We have come concerning the fate of Luke Castellan."

My throat closed up. I managed to say, "You might as well begin my eternal whipping, because he's dead. You know that. I'll take my punishment, since I had a hand in his death..."

"He killed himself," the Fury reminded me.

My teeth clenched. "I'm quite aware. I was there, remember?"

She studied me curiously, clicking her teeth. Her sisters grumbled behind her, but she held up a hand to silence them. When she spoke again, her voice was scratchy and full of disbelief. "You have been living all this time as a... mortal?"

"Yes." No sword practice with Riptide, no visits to Camp Half-Blood, no quests, no interactions with monsters or other immortal beings. _Nothing_.

"There has been trouble of sorts in the Underworld. Sporadic problems over the past year. Some misprints in applications are the least... the dead are sent to the wrong places... Tartarus in particular has been seething with mischief, Jackson, and that mischief has... well, we have lost many souls. And it is getting worse."

"_Lost?_" I thought of my twice almost-dead mother, of Bianca di Angelo, of Zoë Nightshade. Lost souls. "How can you _lose_ souls? How can a place that—that houses _Titans_ be used to capture a person's soul, especially if it's the world of the dead?"

"That is what we are trying to discover."

"What does... Luke... have to do with any of this? He was going to try for Elysium... the Isles of the Blest."

The cold feeling in my gut intensified even before Alecto shook her dark head.

"Luke is one of the targeted ones. If he is _lucky_, now, he will see Elysium. If he is not... we have discovered that when these souls are eliminated, no traces remain. It is as though they never existed."

I'd like to say that I said something Luke deserved—maybe I felt some relief that he couldn't return to try and kill me and destroy the gods again, or a vindictive satisfaction that Luke was defeated even in death.

But the problem was...

Three years was a very, very long time to think about my former enmity with Luke, along with the revelation of his past, his history with three of my closest friends... and his history, if short, with me. It wasn't right that something downstairs was trying to wipe out his soul—even if it was _Luke_.

My second train of thought wandered to my girlfriend: it was to her that Luke had revealed his plan for the afterlife. And now that it looked like someone was messing with that plan...

_Annabeth is going to kill me._

The third train rushed by in my head and slammed, ADHD-like, into the second with a resounding _gong_.

_Unless I somehow fix this._

I finally spoke, quietly. "You came here, to me. You're telling me about Luke being in danger, even though he's dead. What in the world do you want _me_ to do about this?"

The other two Furies flapped over to one another and began hissing in Ancient Greek, too fast for me to understand. I closed my eyes sharply. _So, I _was_ being asked to help._

A year and a half, two years maximum, and they were asking me to slip a completely different life-skin back on—just put on the shield, draw the sword, and become a hero again.

The crazy thing was... my blood screamed for just that. It was, at that very moment, exactly what I wanted for so many reasons. The pounding in my head said, _This is exactly what I need. I want to try this all again. Let me redeem myself in Annabeth's eyes, and in my own._

_I want to be a hero one more time._

I wrenched my sword arm out of Alecto's grasp. Her ugly eyebrows rose in surprise, but my mind was made up and I hardly noticed.

"I will go to the Underworld," I said. "I will travel, again, across the United States and try to find out why these souls are being exterminated—and who's doing it. And... I will rescue Luke Castellan from the same fate, even if it kills me in the process."

The other Furies stopped speaking. Grinning savagely, they sank down onto the couch—_my_ couch—and focused their dark, beady eyes entirely on me.

Alecto/Mrs. Dodds gave a smirk that bordered on a smile. Her claw went _clamp_ right down on my sword arm again, like we were sealing a contract.

But all she said was, "Thank you, Perseus Jackson. I would have expected nothing less."


	3. I Pack for a Pilgrimage

Here I am again! Now, on to...

**What story will I fall into**—Hey, I'm really flattered! I love the books, and even at camp am trying to get as many people obsessed as possible. =D

**ToL-Lover**—Hey, you're back! YAY! Glad you still like. The only thing better than reading it is writing it, I swear.

**Thisismimi**—I'm glad you liked last chapter and the first as well. Thank goodness no one's taken my plot! I'm not always a fast updater with my stories, mostly because of longevity and limited time, but hopefully later this summer that can change. Plus, I'm off easier with this one because the chapters are shorter... and there's only four of them so far. Oops.

**g2Luvmeh**—Ah, I'm flattered again! I hope I can stay to the book for the most part, and keep the plot interesting. And... yes, _Luke_. Luke is amazing. Luke is win. In fact, Luke is the reason I'm writing this story. There will be more of him, that I can promise.

* * *

**Chapter Three**: I Pack For A Pilgrimage

* * *

Two hours later I was thinking, _Maybe I was crazy to do this._

But that was obvious—I was agreeing to leave a safe apartment, a secure job, and some college-planning time in order to help a dead person I hadn't exactly been fond of in life. There was no sense in that _at all_.

All while the 'Kindly Ones' were there, I had convinced myself that I was doing this for Annabeth. Whatever else she said to the contrary, I knew that she _had_ loved Luke at one time as more than a friend—and I was tied to anyone she was fond of.

But I was still lying to myself. I was tied to him, too.

Luke Castellan and I had been linked from the moment he'd welcomed me into the Hermes cabin, short as my stay there had been. I once counted him as a friend, a close friend, even a teacher (though not of Chiron's caliber). Through him I learned how much of a grudge I could hold against someone—when he tried to kill me and defected, I never once forgave him, or tried to understand his side of the story. He was my enemy, always.

Three years had passed, all the time since he had died to save us, and things... _happened_, things that made me think more and more about him. Away from camp, away from other half-bloods who weren't as sorry to see Luke gone, I thought about him, and about myself, and about how truly alike we were after all. Luke and I had hot tempers, doting fathers who could be a little distant, and wicked, old swords. We didn't have the approval of any of the gods now, I was sure; we both feared the other's power; and, in different times, we both found friends in Annabeth, Thalia, and Grover.

Now I was the same age Luke had been when he'd betrayed us all.

Yet... I was committed to saving his soul in ways I had never before been committed to _anything_—except saving Annabeth, or Grover, or my mother.

So. Here I was. Packing for _another_ quest, because that had just gone so well the last time.

_I have to save Luke._

I did, but I didn't want to think about all that I had to do, so I decided to pack instead.

My apartment was a mess. I opened drawers and threw bedcovers right and left, reminding myself every so often to keep going whenever I let my ADHD brain distract me. In the end, I found:

-one baggie of ambrosia squares, and

-one canteen, barely full, of nectar (Yes, I still had some of both. I was depressed and hopeless, not stupid.)

-one flawless shield, made by Tyson, hanging on my wall because I hadn't been able to bear leaving it behind anywhere else

-many, many bottles of water

-a pack full of food fit for mortals, half-bloods, or perhaps even gods

-Riptide, cleaned and ready to kill/maim/vaporize, and

-one sleeping bag, just in case I actually got to sleep.

Another precious two hours had flown by, but I could say it—I was ready.

But first I had to write a letter to Annabeth. We'd been planning to get together soon after my birthday, and though I knew it would have just consisted of her nagging me to come back to camp regularly... it would have been a nice post-birthday gift.

She was going to kill me if I returned alive. Luckily, there was a small chance of _that_ happening.

I remembered, perfectly well, what all lurked in the Underworld.

* * *

_Luke, you had better be worth this._

The pack was on my back, full to the brim—the shield was an innocent watch on my wrist, the water bottles in holders on the bag's many sides, Riptide was a pen in my pocket, and the sleeping bag was thrown over my shoulder as well. I could have passed as a camper, headed for some secluded, water-deprived middle of nowhere.

I stepped out of my apartment and tacked my note to Annabeth to the window. Vaguely, I wondered if I should write a note to Rachel too, but then I decided against it. After all, a) she wasn't my girlfriend, and b) before about eight hours ago, I hadn't heard a peep from her since our graduation—and our reunion hadn't exactly been a barrel of laughs, either.

It was dark, the perfect cover. I began to jog, moving swiftly (but not silently) down the stairs, past the cars, including my own, and...

_Wait. Why am I not taking my car?_

The answer came quickly: _Because it would be recognized, of course._ The last thing I needed was to be forcibly ejected from a car by lightning, _again. _It was either on foot or nowhere at all.

_Forgive me, Father_, I senselessly prayed. _I'm about to fail you again._

The moment I was across the street from my new home, something made me turn. And then I remembered:

_Oh, no no no NO. My mom—she promised she'd call me, today._

No time to find out if she had. I turned around and continued to jog, putting as much distance between my mortal life and my half-blood life as possible.

_I am a phoenix,_ I told myself calmly as I went. _I am rising from my ashes, temporarily at least, to save Luke from a fate worse than... okay, _what's_ really going on in the Underworld again?_

As though it mattered. I would be going anyway, and—painful as it had been to come to the conclusion—I knew I would be going alone.

Chiron's voice echoed in my head once more. _"You should know this by now, Perseus."_ (I still remember flinching whenever he called me that.) _"Three heroes is the safest number to send on a quest—any quest. And it doesn't matter whether one of those heroes isn't really a 'hero' at all. Thalia, Luke, Annabeth and Grover came here nine years before, and Thalia never made it past the camp borders."_

_"That wasn't a quest!"_ I remember protesting.

_"Ah, but in a way it was. Getting to camp was the most difficult challenge twelve year-old Thalia had ever faced."_

_"But—but—the _Council_ sent Grover to get them, so..."_

_"He still counted, Percy. He was with them for quite a while."_

_"The wrong turns."_

_"Yes."_

Now I was violating _another_ cardinal rule—not taking two friends along to watch my back. I was so dead that it wasn't even funny.

I sighed, then. _At least Hermes won't have to _take_ me to the Underworld. I'm a mindless fowl, going of its own will._

Four more hours bled by at annoyingly slow speed—it had been twelve, now, since I had been working dutifully at Starbucks. It felt more like three more years had been shaved off of my life. Nevertheless I jogged on, panting softly, feeling my heart rate sharply in my ears.

My goal was to reach New York's borders by sunrise. It'd be difficult, but I was sure I could do it—as long as I didn't stop for mortals, gods, potential-gods-masquerading-as-mortals, monsters-masquerading-as-mortals, or any other distractions.

_Take it in steps, Percy,_ I heard Annabeth instructing me—she was my conscience as always. _Focus on the journey, not the destination. You might look up and find yourself there sooner._

Thunder boomed silently above—with tingles of apprehension running up my arms, I saw light flashing at the bottom of clouds, charges playing with each other. That ominous sound had spoken to me twice today. That was what demigods liked to call _"really bad"_.

To be honest, I was a little annoyed. Why in the world was _I_ being watched? I'd cut off all contact with the gods, and it had been a long while since I had even _seen_ Zeus, let alone gotten any messages from him. And right now he sounded really, _really_ angry.

I hoped (but did not pray) that it wasn't with me. Praying would call an uncomfortable amount of attention to me—I knew that now, when it hadn't occurred to me starting out. _Now it's too late- I spoke with my father, and now they know. Possibly._

The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. Sudden, uncontrollable fear surged through me, and I started to run, expecting lightning to hit me at any moment.

It didn't. But it was a while before I started breathing normally again.

* * *

The scar on my back flared anew with pain.

_Oh, gods—!_

I couldn't help it—I screamed, a long scream, a loud and agonizing yell. It had been such a long time since it had hurt like that.

_Everything_ had been such a long time ago, everything even remotely _like_ this. I was only nineteen years old, and I felt about five times my age.

It came back in flashes:

_"Perseus, it was not your—"_

_"Percy! What happened—to—?"_

_"The Jackson kid... know how he got that wicked scar, right?"_

_"Get over it, why don't you? At least you're not dead—"_

"SHUT UP!"

I realized that I was screaming at the sky. _Definitely_ not a good idea... but I could plead temporary insanity. Or was it really?

I never knew the memories were still that raw.

The scar flared again. I hissed in pain, threw down the pack, and hurled off my shirt, my hands searching up my back and down, up and down, up and down until...

_Ouch_.

I traced it slowly. The mirror had taught me where it began and where it ended—but other than my initial morbid fascination with it, I hardly examined it anymore. One reddish, raised-up welt, extending from just above the center of my back to the bottom left corner. Time had dulled everything about it, from the initial pain to the color, size and bleeding habits.

My pain, rage and humiliation, given shape.

It continued to throb now under my fingers, mocking me. I counted twelve flashes of pain before I managed to stand, and pull my shirt and pack on.

_Luke and I both have significant scars, too. But I think mine hurts a little more._

I put one foot in front of the other, heading away from the horizon.

* * *

Look for an extra scene if I (you guessed it) get enough written support saying 'Yes, DO IT'. (See, I didn't call it what it was and you know anyway. GO!)


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